Three in the Morning
by Dogfancy
Summary: America gets a visit... at three in the morning... the morning of the G20 meeting. Not only that, but his alcohol stash if being ransacked. It'll be worth it, methinks. Karma's gonna bite his visitor in the butt. *Oneshot America and Russia hatefluff!*


Alfred woke up with a fright, _another_ nightmare, scaring him right out of his bed. With an unmanly squeak, he crashed onto the floor in a heap, waking the other room's occupant sleeping under the bed. Tony poked his head out from under the pile of blankets bunched around the bed's borders and huffed, "Fuck, man, this is the _seventh time_. Fuck…" Alfred shivered in his little pile and scooched a little away from the bed. His feet heavy and face pale, he managed to pick himself up enough to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

With the light scuffing of bare feet against cool tile, he managed to blindly grope for the faucet and fill a spotless glass cup, styled with an American flag etched on the bottom, with clear tap water that licked at the curves of the glass.

Alfred sipped at the filtered water, emptying the glass into his parched, dry mouth. The sleeve of his long pajamas swiped across his mouth as he slipped the cup into an already overflowing sink of dirty dishes, stained with grease. The doorbell rang through the empty house, surprising Alfred off of the ground and against the nearest wall. He growled, stomping to the door to see _who the hell would be here at two in the morning_.

Only to open the door to a tall dark shadow just down the walkway, teeth standing out against the blackness enveloping its body in a wide smile curling up to the barely visible, dull orbs for eyes.

Alfred didn't know his voice could get that high.

The figure only laughed (politely, as if it were a joke he didn't particularly like) and walked forward. Tony pushed Alfred away, still adorning his child-sized E.T. pajama bottoms, and put his hand up as high as he could, making Ivan bend down slightly to give him a high-five.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Braginsky!" Alfred moaned, rubbing the goosebumps away from the back of his neck. Tony waved himself away with a rubbery grey hand and moved toward the bedroom again. Ivan's mouth turned up in a cutesy smile, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. "Good…" he paused to glance up at the sky, then at a watch under the heavy cloth coat bundling around his body, "… morning! Goodness, it's only morning? I-"

"What do you want, Russia?" Alfred sighed, absently wiping the sleepiness from his eyes and letting his hand fall from its place on the doorknob. Suspicious indents of hands crinkled the metal knob. "Ah, The Pittsburg Conference is today, да? So I flew in and just arrived recently." He nodded his head, glove clad hands intertwining behind his back. Alfred paused with a pout, eyes narrowing. "And?"

"And that's it!" Ivan chirped, unnaturally lively for that time in the morning. "Ah, but I couldn't sleep, I already rested when I got here, да? This afternoon, of course… And with our time zones and all…" he trailed off, head tilting to one side.

"So what do you want me to do about it?" Alfred grumbled, holding his ground in the hopes that the Russian would take the hint and leave.

"You're the host," Ivan lilted, a condescending tone creeping into his voice, "So I figured that I could come and, ah, what is it you say? Crash, да?" Alfred felt his eye twitch in just the slightest, but had no choice but to step aside. He would have slammed the door in Ivan's face, but he had the vaguest feeling that Big O wouldn't appreciate it if he offended someone that had access to smallpox (albeit a small amount) and nuclear missiles.

Ivan's smile twitched just a little bit wider as he strode in, scarf pulled with him. He unceremoniously kicked off his boots once he sat himself on a couch and wriggled his feet, clad in white, fluffy socks. "Don't you have jet lag or something?" Alfred asked behind him, snailing to the foyer.

"Ah, да," Ivan said, hands folded in his lap as if he were expecting something. Alfred scuffled into the kitchen, just one doorway away. "Jao had some herbs though, and, as I had already said, I rested, so I'm fine." He paused, "Do you have vodka by any chance?"

Alfred paused for a second after setting his electric kettle to boil some water before, out of curiosity, asking, "With jet lag?" He looked down at the packets of hot chocolate, already knowing from past experience that it was a _very_ bad idea to give Ivan anything with coffee in it. "Mm, да! Why not?"

His funeral. "Just wondering." He poured the hot water into some mugs, making sure they were specifically the ones with the American flag boldly printed on. "In the hot chocolate or…?"

"Нет, just bring the bottle." Alfred strolled out with the two mugs and a cold bottle of Smirnoff under his arm. As he lowered one mug toward Ivan, the man took it and held it in a way that the printed flag faced away from him. With his other hand he took the vodka without any hesitation whatsoever. Alfred sunk into the recliner and sipped at his mug, taking a hand and ruffling it through his messy blond locks.

Curiously enough for him, Ivan took a sip at the warm liquid before taking the bottle, uncapping it, and tipping it in his mouth. When he placed it on the glass coffee table, it was already one third gone. Alfred raised an eyebrow and couldn't extinguish his curiosity before asking, "How did you do that?"

"Hmm?" Ivan mumbled around the rim of the mug, stormy purple eyes looking up with a sort of childish look coming over his face. "You just drank a third of that bottle without falling on the ground, drunk. How did you do that?"

Ivan lifted his face and glanced at the bottle. "I have a high tolerance for alcohol," he chuckled, "I thought you'd know that already!" Alfred felt his eye twitch again, bringing the mug up to his mouth, murmuring, "Liver of fucking steel…"

"Besides," Ivan added, taking the last remark as a compliment, "I believe Smirnoff Black is only 80 proof, да? Not that much." Alfred stared at him with disbelief plastered on his face, emphasizing, "_Only?_"

"Hmm?" he hummed along the neck of the vodka bottle, draining another third of it without so much as tipping his balance. The American's jaw dropped to the floor like an Acme anvil. There was a mild look of repulsion made him look ridiculous, making Ivan chuckle lightly as he wiped his heavy sleeve against his mouth. "You see, when I first petitioned Poland- were you there? I think you were much too young, да? Anyway, he had much vodka in his home and I couldn't help but smuggle some out. He makes 160 proof, you see… Brantówka, да?"

"Jesus Christ," Alfred whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair and draining the mug that had long gone frigid. "When was the last time you got drunk-?"

"What day is it?" Ivan asked, cutting off the comment as if he was expecting it anyway.

"Wedn- er, Thursday."

"Mm, just three days ago then." He looked up at the ceiling and narrowed his eyes, trying to recall what he did exactly on Monday. Whatever it was, it must have been amusing. The next day he found Latvia taped to the wall with tie-dye duct tape.

"How can't you remember the date?" Alfred asked, bringing him to attention, "You came all the way here just for today."

"Ah!" Ivan exclaimed, nodding his head in the slightest, "I never was good with time, Dmitri usually deals with that. I wouldn't be able to tell day from night if the sun didn't die every evening."Alfred hesitated for a moment, staring at him oddly, "If the sun… didn't die?" His hand ran through his hair again, a nervous tick whenever Russia was around.

"Да, comrade," he replied, matter-of-factly. For a moment, Alfred wondered if he was joking, but, for some reason, he wouldn't have been surprised to know that the Russian was completely serious. "Don't you know anything? The Sun dies every evening and sleeps in hell. He is born again in the morning! Actually…" He peeked out of the window, shaking his head, "Нет, still dead! Poor thing."

Alfred decided against saying anything, only waving his hand lazily and mumbling, "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." Ivan nodded cheerfully and downed the rest of the vodka, completely missing the sarcasm in Alfred's tone. For a moment, he swayed gently toward one side before straightening himself. The American raised an eyebrow and wondered allowed, "So you got jet lag, you're missing sleep, and you're getting buzzed?" One vigorous nod in response and he considered calling up another country to deal with him. "Do you have any more?" Probably Switzerland.

"Yeah, sure." He stood to leave, inwardly whispering, "Want me to add some pure rubbing alcohol to make it 200 proof for you, fatass?" Russia's head snapped around and he called out, "I heard that!" Alfred laughed it off, figuring that seeing a massively hungover and sleep-deprived Russian was probably going to be the highlight of his day.

He heard a short cry from the other room, and could virtually feel an earthquake under his feet from the weight of all the _goddamn stupidity_ hopping off of the couch. When he decided to step out to check what was going on (he considered just killing himself with one of the various knives he had), he saw Ivan hunched over the window and staring, absolutely still. He heard a lofty sigh and looked over to see the sun barely peeking over the horizon, deep reddish orange.

He went back into the kitchen and fished out the only other bottle of vodka he had, deciding that 100 proof was too strong for him anyway. He arrived back into the foyer with the Russian sunken into the sofa and his feet kicking childishly. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be humming a vague, improvised tune. The clink of glass on coffee table made him jump in the slightest. "What's gotten you so happy?" Alfred grumbled, holding a cup of warm coffee.

"Чебурашка is on, да? I can imagine children back at home watching it." Alfred tested his tongue against his teeth, deeming it impossible for his American tongue to say a Russian word correctly. "Cheb-_what_?"

"Ah, that's right, you don't have it here, да? Well, it's a cartoon for children, the equivalent of Barney in America." He paused for a second before quickly adding, "Though not as ridiculous sounding or ugly." He took a long drunk of the alcohol.

"I hate Barney anyway," Alfred mumbled under his breath, cupping his head in his hands and leaning his elbows on his knees. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the summit?"

"Ah," Ivan hummed, nodding quietly, "Да! Goodbye, Alfred!" He moved out and the American heard the distant sound of a door closing, quietly reminding himself that he didn't even ask if he could keep the vodka.

He steadily held his cellphone for his ear, grumbling, "Waking me up early… Stealing my alcohol…"

"Hello, aru?" a voice hummed from the other end of the line, quickly. There were scuffling sounds and a few other voices in the background. "Hey, Yao," Alfred spoke, casually sprawling himself on the couch, "Do you-"

"Ah! Ah… one second, aru!" There was a clink of clink of the phone tapping on a wooden surface, with distant, foreign gibberish being yelled. Alfred could only make out something along the lines of 'Stupid child! Go watch some of your Korean dramas or something! I'm on the phone!'

"I'm sorry Alfred," Yao sighed into the phone, obviously irritated. "Right!" Alfred called, a mischievous smile scrawling across his face, "You have herbs for jet lag, right?"

"Yes, of course, aru…"

"I need it. A lot. As much as you have. ASAP."

**G20: Pittsburg, USA**

He did get some sleep after all, even if a few hours. It would be enough to stay awake for the meeting, he decided, especially since he had gone to bed early the previous night just for the event. He wandered through the long halls of the Conference center, quietly admiring the architecture. There was a quiet, fatigued whimpering come from the end of one hall, and he could just make out a man in a black suit, growling in a hushed, foreign language, and something else curled on the floor.

Before he could investigate, he checked his watch and noted the time, making a straight path toward the meeting hall with a brilliant smile and enough of an ego to put out the anxiety pooling in his stomach.

He greeted the nations one by one, ending with…

A very sick looking Russia and his boss. Alfred almost melted under the glare that he received from Ivan, though Dmitri nudged him with a discontent frown, leading them to the seats with a rushed apology. He felt goosebumps run along his hands and legs, shooting down his spine. It seemed that even the countries sitting near him scoot away, nervously whispering to each other and their bosses. He was too scared shitless to look at the glare he was given.

But, out of curiosity, he did look. A smile creeped up on his face, which seemed to only piss Ivan off more. Quietly, Alfred mouthed, _I warned you._ Ivan shifted uncomfortably on his seat and clenched his jaw, practically radiating enmity as if he were radioactive with childish loathing. Alfred sneezed. Barack leaned over to him and whispered, "What's wrong?"

He only smiled in response, shaking his head and replying with a simple, "Nothing."

* * *

**A/N:** YES OKAY. I really have no idea where this came from, I guess it was just a plot bunny. At first it was a story of how Russia basically hid himself in America's house every morning with a big sheet, but then I scrapped that when I realized how massive jetlag must be when you travel between Russia and America. Also, I don't think getting drunk and losing sleep helps that much.

And before anyone asks, no, I did not make Russia stupid. I just made him a bit off by American standards, based off of personal experience and research. I can imagine that some of the folklore that we have in America must be completely otherwordly for people in Russia, so it's all fair and good, yes?

One final note: Да (da) is yes, Нет (nyet or net, depending on who you're asking) is no and Чебурашка (Cheburashka) is a children's cartoon that was first created in Soviet Russia, but is still popular today.

In English, Чебурашка would be "Topple". Both names refer to how the species was found, when one of the little guys fell out of an orange box and seemed to have a hard time with its orientation. I recall another fanfiction mentioning this cartoon, and I'm not trying to steal from them xD;. I've just searched all over the intertubes looking for children's cartoons in Russia and this seems to be the only one that didn't glorify communism as far as I looked.

Anyway, yes! Thank you for reading! I encourage reviews, since I would like to improve my writing as well as I can!


End file.
